


Take A Pop Shot

by Haicrescendo



Series: Carry On For You [9]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bedsharing, Gen, Underage Drinking, local badge challenger surprised to discover himself more ride or die than expected, oops it’s definitely child abuse, self medicating with alcohol is never recommended, some kind of not great life choices, someone in this bed is an an octopus and SURPRISE it’s both of them, the art of being big spoon, zuko is full of feelings and so many of them are terrible, zuko’s super fun road trip straight to The Bad Place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [Zuko leans back hard against the bed frame and sighs heavily and tips his head back to look at Sokka.“Have you ever jumped off a cliff with a bungee before? Or, like, a waterfall?”“What? No,” Sokka snorts. “Why, have you?”Zuko’s quiet and considering, and he doesn’t look away.“It’s scary,” he says, “But when you’re falling, you never want to stop. The fall feels like it takes forever, and you could do it and be happy for the rest of your life. And then you hit water, or the end of your tether. And it hurts, it always hurts, but the fall feels so good that you keep doing it, over and over again.”“Are you falling right now?” Sokka asks.“No,” Zuko murmurs. “Fall’s over. I hit the water.”]Or,Zuko implodes and Sokka wants pancakes.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Carry On For You [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013
Comments: 168
Kudos: 2298
Collections: zuko best boi





	Take A Pop Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta/bestie Winterkill, and to The Church of the Firebending Elbow for putting up with my endless screaming over this part. 
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed this, please leave me a comment and let me know. I can be found shitposting and posting the occasional sneak peek at future fics on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Sokka’s phone rings, and it’s an unknown number.

He’s not _stupid_ , who the hell answers the phone if they don’t know the number? So he lets it ring. If it’s important, they’ll leave a voicemail. He goes back to eating his fast food cheeseburger in his bed in one of the rooms of Floral City’s pokémon center.

His phone stops ringing, and he stops thinking about it.

Then it chimes and lights up.

Voicemail.

Curious, Sokka picks up his phone and sets it up to listen.

_“Sokka, it’s Iroh. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour out of the blue, but I have some...concerns. Please call me back.”_

Well, that’s just about the weirdest message Sokka’s ever received, and he let Bato once talk him into drinking a bottle of cactus juice. Dad _still_ brings it up every time they fight.

Sokka calls back.

“Uncle?” He asks when the phone picks up, and he hears a sigh of relief on the other line.

“Oh, good. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to reach you.”

“What’s going on? You’ve got concerns? What kind of concerns?”

Uncle’s quiet for a few moments before he speaks again.

“Yes. Have you heard from Zuko recently?”

“Uhhh…” Sokka checks his text history, “Not in a couple of days.” Which is a little weird, actually, because he’s sort of used to hearing from him a little more regularly lately. 

Uncle sighs, deeply, and Sokka has the distinct feeling he’s rubbing at his temples. 

“Is everything okay?”

A pause.

“This is kind of a weird time for him. I was hoping that he would stick around for it but he left yesterday, and hasn’t come home. It’s not _that_ unusual but...”

The worry is clear.

Sokka chews on his lower lip.

“I’ll call him and see if I can get him. Okay? I’ll let you know.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Sokka hangs up and goes straight into calling Zuko. It rings twice and then goes straight to voicemail. That _asshole_ declined his call!

Too bad for him that Sokka is persistent, and extremely good at being annoying.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_hey dickhead pick up ur phone_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_yooooooooo_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_i know ur phone is on_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_call me back_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_call_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_me_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_baaaaaaaack_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_hey_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_heeeeeeeeeey_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_HEEEEEEEEEY_

Sokka intersperses his texts with calls and finally, after what feels like an eternity, his phone rings.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” Zuko snaps in lieu of a hello, because he’s rude as shit like that.

“Excuse me, I’m not the one who ran off and won’t call his uncle back. You could at least let him know you’re okay, you know. He’s worried.”

“ _Fine,_ ” the other boy growls, “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’m awesome. You can tell him that.”

And then Zuko, _like an asshole,_ hangs up on him. Sokka stares at his phone, unspeakably irritated and tempted to call him back to tell him what’s what. He calls Iroh back instead.

“Your nephew is being a real dick right now,” he says instead of hello, “He says he’s fine even though he’s clearly not fine, but he’s alive enough to answer his phone. After I annoyed him into it.”

Uncle sighs a little.

“I apologize.”

“Not your fault,” Sokka says, “He’s the one having a problem.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” the man replies, voice going softer and kind of sad, “He’s not at his best.” 

That’s for damn sure, but it doesn’t mean that Iroh should keep making excuses for him. Sokka keeps that to himself and tells Uncle goodbye. Hopefully, Zuko pulls his head out of his ass soon and calls him back so he can stop worrying.

Sokka finishes his cheeseburger.

His phone dings.

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_I’m sorry._

Sokka reads it, and feels his anger slip out of him. He’s always been like that—quick to anger and quick to forgive, even when he wishes, sometimes, that he could hold onto it longer.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_Forgiven._

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_Im not far from vulca. If ur close u could come hang and take a time out._

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_Where are you?_

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_Floral village pkmn center. Stay where ur at tho, weather is getting nasty. Come tmrw._

Sokka figures that that’s the end of it.

For a while, he sits by the window and watches the storm roll in, blocking out all but the brightest lights and replacing the calm little village with a black, watery hellscape. Hard raindrops slap at the windows and even safe inside, Sokka can hear the wind whistling. 

He’s more grateful than ever to have decided against camping tonight.

Sokka crawls into bed and closes his eyes, listens to the weather raging outside, and has no difficulty falling asleep.

* * *

Sokka wakes up to a thud.

He jumps upright and stares around the room. Empty, as it should be. He definitely didn’t imagine the noise, though.

Sokka groans and slides out of bed.

He’s going to regret this.

Sokka opens the door and peers into the hallway. It’s empty.

Except for the wet lump masquerading as a person huddling against the wall.

“Zuko, dude, that had better not be you,” Sokka tells them pointedly. “I know I’m awesome, but you really couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Wet footprints soak the carpet from the window. “You couldn’t use the front door, either?”

The lump gives a guilty, telling twitch; Sokka opens the door a little wider.

“Come on, then. You’re here now. At least dry off.”

There’s no part of Zuko that isn’t completely drenched and he looks _pathetic_ , dripping wet and shivering on the edge of the bathtub. Sokka drops a towel onto his head and goes to dig in his bag for something that might fit him.

“Got anything to say for yourself?” 

“I was already out,” Zuko mumbles.

“Uh-huh.” Sokka chucks a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants at him and shuts the bathroom door. “See if those fit.”

Sokka tosses Zuko’s wet clothes into the communal dryer while he’s showering, and when Zuko emerges from the bathroom he looks way less like a drowned rattata and more like a human. He drops to the floor and leans against Sokka’s bed.

“Feel better?” He asks with a smile.

“No.”

The smile slips.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asks.

Zuko twists around to look at him, and the only word Sokka can find for the look on his face is _pain_.

“No,” the other boy says, low and quiet. “No, I’m not.” That’s all he says before he reaches out to grab his bag, unzipping it and pulling out a large bottle of clear liquid and a couple of shot glasses. “ _So._ I’ve decided that I’m going to get absolutely wrecked. You can join me, if you’d like. Or not, it’s up to you.”

Sokka’s not super clear on how a massive bottle of alcohol is going to make _anything_ better. It doesn’t seem like a great plan, all things considered, and he’s the guy who drank cactus juice on a dare. But Zuko is determined in all things and Sokka sincerely doubts that he’s going to be able to stop him, even if he tries.

Zuko’s going for a smile, but it’s fake as hell, and Sokka wishes that he wouldn’t even try.

Finally, he holds out a hand for a glass.

“I’ll have one,” he tells him. “Pour for me?”

Zuko twists the cap off the bottle and pours out two shots, handing one to Sokka.

“Fucking cheers,” he tells him, and knocks it back. He grimaces at the taste and wrinkles his nose, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another two in quick succession.

Sokka shoots his, hates every drop of it, and takes the bottle out of Zuko’s hands.

“I’ll pour,” he tells him firmly, “That tastes like ass. I’m out.”

“One more.”

“You don’t even like it,” Sokka says, but pours him half. “That’s all you get for like...twenty minutes. I’m not taking you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. That’s not cute.”

Zuko leans back hard against the bed frame and sighs heavily, tips his head back to look at Sokka.

“Have you ever jumped off a cliff with a bungee before? Or, like, a waterfall?”

“What? No.” Sokka snorts. “Why, have you?”

Zuko’s quiet and considering, and doesn’t look away.

“It’s scary,” he says, “But when you’re falling, you never want to stop. The fall feels like it takes forever, and you could do it and be happy for the rest of your life. And then you hit water, or the end of your tether. And it hurts, it always hurts, but the fall feels so good that you keep doing it, over and over again.”

“Are you falling right now?” Sokka asks.

“No,” Zuko murmurs. “Fall’s over. I hit the water.”

The more he talks the more he relaxes and the looser he gets. The tension that’s been visibly wound in his body seems to come undone, and when Sokka watches him, he looks away. He’s silent for a long while.

“Pour for me?” He asks, holding out his glass.

It hasn’t been quite twenty minutes yet, but Sokka figures it’s close enough, and tops him off.

If anything, the booze does seem to actually be helping Zuko’s mood, which is unexpected but not unwelcome. Sokka doesn’t know what to do with dark-and-moody Zuko, not _that_ kind of dark and moody, but he thinks he can work with this one.

“How are we doing?” He asks and flops on his belly to hang his torso over the edge of the bed. He ends up closer to Zuko than he meant to, and when Zuko turns to him, his forehead bumps Sokka in the cheek.

It’s not his fault but he feels like he should apologize anyway, but he stops short before he can say a word, because Zuko’s wearing that odd, soft expression again, watching him like he’s never seen him before. His face is open and startled but warm, for the first time since he’s shown up.

Sokka hadn’t realized just how cold he’d really been until he sees the difference.

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles, “Didn't mean to hurt you.” And Sokka knows that he’s _definitely_ feeling those shots, because he raises his hand and rubs at Sokka’s cheek. It’s a gentler touch than Sokka would have expected.

“You, uh, you didn’t hurt me. It’s fine, buddy. You’re good.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, and _smiles_ at him. “I am? Good.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Sokka cannot even believe this, wouldn’t have believed it if a him from the future had come and told him about it himself. Drunk Zuko is _cute_ , that’s the only word for it. 

“Hey, can I tell you something?” Zuko asks after another shot and being told, again, that he has to wait a while for another, and squints a little at him.

“Sure,” Sokka replies.

“It’s a secret. So you can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Sokka half expects Zuko to make him pinky swear for it. He doesn’t, but Sokka’s ready to do it anyway.

“I think you’re the best friend I’ve got. Like, people friend. Sorry, but Druk is my best, best, best friend.”

Sokka grins at him and feels, weirdly, like his heart’s too big for his chest. It shouldn’t be this endearing but god, it _is_ , because he’s so damn earnest when he says it, without a drop of dishonesty or guile.

“It’s cool,” he says, “I wouldn’t try and take Druk’s place. He’s your best, best, best friend.”

“But you’re my best _people_ friend. I don’t have a lot of people friends, you know? People don’t like me very much. I don’t know how to be people; I’m _bad_ at it.”

“Not nearly as bad as you think you are.”

Zuko looks like he doesn’t quite believe him, and Sokka pokes him in the cheek. It feels like an indulgence.

“Toph likes you plenty,” he tells him, “You scare the hell out of Aang but he likes you a lot too. Yue likes you. Kuei obviously likes you. You’ve got friends other than me, dude. Cool, gym leader friends. Cooler than me.”

“But you’re the _best one._ ”

Zuko’s dangerously close to pouting at him, and if he does, Sokka knows that he won’t be able to handle it. He’ll actually just drop dead right here, right now.

“Can I tell _you_ something?” 

“Is it a secret?”

“Not really. I think it’s probably pretty obvious,” Sokka says. Zuko twists around to look at him and leans in his own folded arms on the mattress. He looks _enthralled_.

“Tell me. You should whisper it.”

“But it’s not a secret.”

“Do it anyway.”

Fine, then. Sokka leans in close until Zuko’s dark, still slightly damp hair tickles his nose, and whispers,

“You’re my best people friend too.”

Zuko _beams_ at him, bright as the fucking sun and touches his forehead to Sokka’s, not on accident this time but purposeful. Sokka doesn’t dare move, and sits there like an idiot who’s suddenly very afraid of startling his drunk _best friend_ into aloofness again. He doesn’t want him to crawl back inside himself, again. Sokka wants to think that this drunk honesty is just that—honest.

It should be weird, but it’s not.

Sokka should be uncomfortable, but he’s not.

Thunder cracks and lightning flashes in the window, lighting up the dim room. For a moment, all Sokka can hear is the spattering sound of rain on glass and his own thundering heart.

“Can I tell you something else?” Zuko whispers, very seriously, face dropping out of happy and straight back into pain, as if someone had flipped the light switch on his mood. “It’s important.” He’s definitely, solidly drunk, and holds out his glass for one more. Sokka considers cutting him off but ultimately decides against it. That’s the last one, he tells himself when he screws the lid back on the bottle and rolls it to sit in the dip between the mattress and the wall.

“You can tell me anything.”

It’s one too many.

“A year ago, today, I came back to Vulca.” Zuko’s voice is low and very suddenly _devastated_. “I came back, and I ruined the people who ruined me, and it doesn’t feel better yet. Sometimes I wish that I’d never come back at all.”

The good, warm feelings that have been percolating in Sokka’s stomach go cold, popping like soap bubbles and leaving chill in their wake. Zuko drops his head and presses his face into the blankets, drawing in a hard breath.

“I ruined my father, and I ruined my sister, and I tell myself that it’s because it was the right thing to do but the real reason I did it is because they ruined me first and I’m never gonna be okay with it.”

“Zuko—“ 

“I didn’t want to talk to Uncle because he deserves better than what he got with me.”

And oh, god, _no_ , Zuko’s making suspicious sniffly sounds into the comforter and Sokka wants to _die_ right there. Where the hell is fun, cuddly Zuko when you need him?

Fun, cuddly Zuko has become unexpectedly sad Zuko, and Sokka doesn’t know what to do with that one. Fun, cuddly Zuko is easy.

This one is decidedly not.

“Oh no, dude, no. No, no, no,” Sokka hopes he doesn’t sound as frantic as he feels, and he doesn’t think twice about slipping his hands underneath Zuko’s face and peeling him off the blankets. Zuko’s not crying but it’s a close call, and his bleary gold eyes are rimmed with red. “Listen, man, your Uncle _loves_ you.”

“ _I know_ ,” Zuko snaps, but it’s hard to be intimidated even a little when he looks so damn sad. The anger drains out of him as quickly as it sprang up. He sinks the weight of his face into Sokka’s palms. “That’s even worse. He deserves _better_. He’s always deserved better but all he ever got was me. I’m not—n-not enough to make up for—for Lu Ten. Lu Ten died and left him _alone_ and all he got for it was _me_ , and I’m not _enough_ , okay? I’m not enough for anybody.”

“I—I’m pretty sure you’re wrong, there—“

“When it all comes down to it,” Zuko’s voice shakes, “I’ve always ever just been a fuck up. That’s how I got this, you know?” He presses his hand hard into the scar around his eye. “It’s easier to let people think it was an accident. It’s _ironic_ , yeah? Fitting, even, that a gym leader specializing in fire has a burn scar on his face.”

Sokka feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Zuko stares at him, mouth downturned and trembling a little. He’s determined to continue.

“My father,” he says, “Broke my best friend’s tail, and put his fire into my face. All because he tried to protect me from him, when I was ten years old.” His mouth twists. “If I was better, I could have protected him, and I wouldn’t be afraid of _everything_ , all the time. M-maybe I could have kept my mom safe, or kept Azula off the deep end. If I was b-better—“ Zuko can’t talk anymore, because a loud, hiccuping sob comes out of him instead. It’s not his own awful story that does him in, in the end, but the look of abject horror on Sokka’s face that has him bursting into tears.

“ _Oh_ , oh god, no, no,” Sokka makes grabby hands at him and grips the other boy by the shoulders, makes a good, solid attempt at physically hauling him up onto the bed, “Come up here, come here, _get up here_.”

Zuko scrambles up onto the bed and Sokka doesn’t think twice about flinging his arms around him and pulling him in close until Zuko’s practically in his lap, crushing him to his chest. He’s easy to hold like this, and Sokka doesn’t have it in him to think about why.

“Dude, _that’s_ the kind of horrible shit you’ve been walking around with?” He asks into Zuko’s hair, still damp and beginning to curl at the ends. “That would fuck _anyone_ up.”

Zuko twists in his grip and tucks his face into the crook of Sokka’s neck. He’s crying so hard he’s shaking with the force of it, and Sokka feels the space behind his eyes go hot. He’s always been a sympathy crier, but he can’t do that right now. Not right now.

“I’m gonna tell you what _I_ know about you. I know that you’ve got a temper, but you never really lose it on anyone who doesn’t deserve it. You’re a strong trainer, not just because you train hard but because you love your pokémon that much that they’ll do anything for you. You’re kindhearted, and even when you brag about wiping the floor with me, you always heal my pokémon too, and take care of them in the ways that you can. You’re loyal. You love your uncle. You’re a good friend even when you’re an asshole sometimes, and you apologize when you’re wrong. You’re doing what you can to fix the damage your family’s done.” 

He pauses and takes a deep breath in. 

“You want to fix everything they broke but you act like they didn’t try and break you, too. The only thing that’s fucked up about you is that right now you’re drunk and sad, and I shouldn’t have gone along with your dumb plan in the first place.”

Zuko curls in on himself, and Sokka stops talking in favor of just holding him.

He’s not crying loudly anymore, but so quietly that it’s almost worse. Tears drip down his cheeks without anything to stop them; he doesn’t even make an attempt to wipe them away.

Sokka somehow manages to shift him so that Zuko’s mostly laying down, head and shoulders in his lap and crying silently into his stomach. It’s an easy position to be comfortable in and easier still to card his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t feel good,” Zuko mumbles thickly.

Sokka blinks down at him, suddenly startled and wondering when the other boy had wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Want me to call anyone for you?”

Zuko shakes his head and when he speaks, it comes out muffled.

“Don’t wanna go anywhere.”

“Didn’t say you had to. Short of Uncle showing up to cart you away in a wheelbarrow, you’re not going anywhere. I asked if there was anyone you wanted me to call.”

Zuko eventually nods and manages to fish his phone out of his pocket and unlock it without too many failed tries.

Sokka expects him to want to call Iroh, but he doesn’t, instead directing him to a contact labeled simply _Master_.

It rings twice, loudly enough that Sokka can hear it even though it’s not on speaker, and when the person on the other end picks up, he can tell that it’s an appropriately grown up voice. Thank god.

_“Hey, kid_ ,” comes through soft and tinny, and those two words are all it takes for Zuko to start sobbing again. Sokka can’t hear what’s being said but Zuko suddenly thrusts the phone at him, burying his face in Sokka’s midsection.

“You owe me so big for this,” he tells him, with absolutely no intention of making him pay up. “Hello.”

“Who is this?” 

“Uhhh, I’m Sokka,” he says awkwardly, “Zuko’s friend.”

“Oh, you. He’s talked about you. There’d better be a really good reason why I’m getting this kind of phone call at this hour. What the hell is wrong with my kid?”

Sokka is gonna kill Zuko when he’s sober enough to appreciate it.

“Zuko asked me to call you. He’s...he’s having a really hard time right now, and he may or may not be a little drunk. I asked him if he wanted to call somebody, and he wanted to call you.” Sokka is so fucking uncomfortable right now. _So uncomfortable_.

“Give him back the phone,” the man orders, to Sokka’s relief.

He does so.

He can’t hear much of what comes from the other end of the line but Sokka assumes that it’s a mix of soothing and scolding nonsense from the way that Zuko begins to calm down almost immediately. 

“Hi,” he says quietly and holds it to his ear like it’s something precious, “Uh-huh. Yeah. I know it was dumb. I just—uh-huh. Yeah. It was just...bad. It was really bad.” 

Zuko sounds so _young_ like this. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that he’s only a little bit older, but it’s easy to see now when he’s so vulnerable and talking to a real grownup like the teenager—the _kid_ that he is.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. He’s getting scolded again, because he sounds guilty and contrite. Sokka buries his fingers in his hair, gratified when instead of pushing him away, Zuko leans into it. “...I won’t. Yeah, I know. Get sleep and drink water. I will. I’ll tell him. ...love you too.” Zuko hangs up and hides his face in Sokka’s middle. “Man, I’m _stupid._ I’m so stupid.”

“Nah, people a lot older and a lot smarter than you have done the exact same thing.”

Sokka remembers Dad, right after Mom died. He didn’t see the man sober for a full year afterwards, and if it hadn’t been for Gran-gran, who knows if they ever would have? It’s not the same, of course, but a broken heart’s still broken no matter who it belongs to.

“He sounded nice.”

“He yelled at me a little.”

Sokka didn’t hear even a bit of actual yelling, but he lets him have it anyway.

“He said you he loved you, though,” he points out, “Isn't that worth a little bit of yelling?”

Zuko sniffs a little and says nothing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like garbage. I’m gonna _hate_ myself tomorrow.”

“Probably,” Sokka replies. “Got anywhere to be?”

“No…”

“Then you can sleep in and then buy me breakfast.”

“M’tired,” Zuko shifts away, and Sokka has the distinct suspicion that he intends on sleeping on the floor.

“I _know_ you’re not gonna try and sleep this off on the floor.”

Zuko glares at him. The effect is greatly diminished by the fact that his eyes are still teary and he looks puffy and miserable.

“I’m not gonna steal your bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, you won’t. Take the bed.”

“I just suffered through a chat with someone I’m pretty sure is like your adopted dad. Take the bed.” Sokka scowls at him and crosses his arms over his chest. “Unless you’ve got a better suggestion.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Zuko huffs, screwing up his face when words hurt. “We’ll share it, then. You’re gonna regret it.” And then he flops over, immediately regrets flopping over so hard if the pained whine that comes out of him is any indication, and proceeds to completely ignore him.

Sokka gapes at him for a solid ten seconds, slack-jawed at the audacity of this drunk asshole having the nerve to steal his pillow. The drunk asshole who still looks miserable but less likely to start crying at the drop of a hat, who’s looking warmer and cuddlier by the minute.

Sokka’s never really thought about wanting to cuddle with Zuko before but the idea’s there now and apparently it’s there to stay. 

“You know, I’ve got the feeling that I won’t, actually,” Sokka mutters under his breath and scoots closer, sliding down underneath the blankets. “Gimme my pillow.”

“No.”

“You’re a brat.”

Sokka’s never really shared a bed before with anyone other than Katara or Dad, on the rare chance that they went somewhere to stay overnight. He doesn’t really know how close is appropriate or where to put his hands but he manages to curl himself around the curve of Zuko’s back anyway, close enough to take back half of his pillow.

If Zuko has any concerns about it, he’s keeping them to himself, because the closer Sokka gets the farther back he manages to scoot until he’s pressed up close, warm and pliant and relaxed. Sokka fidgets desperately with his hands and finally settles on tucking the one underneath his pillow and draping the other over Zuko’s waist. 

He can feel all of his breaths like this, fingertips pressing softly against Zuko’s stomach, and something about the way those breaths are steadily slowing is comforting.

“Is this okay?” Sokka asks, nervous for a reason he can’t name or think too hard about. It’s good but weird, and he can’t figure out whether he wants to fight about sleeping on the floor again or just never leave bed at all.

“Yeah,” Zuko replies, so quietly that Sokka thinks he’s imagined it at first, “It’s good.” 

And slowly, slowly, Sokka relaxes around him. Zuko falls asleep quickly, shallow breaths going deep and even, but Sokka stays awake longer.

He’s afraid to analyze this too hard, and decides eventually that he’s just not going to.

He’s helping a friend who needs his help, he decides.

And it feels good, being close to someone like this. It feels good, and it’s easy, and Sokka _likes_ it.

The last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep himself is that he hopes it stops raining before morning.

* * *

  
  


Sokka is warm and comfortable and never getting out of this bed.

There are _legs_ tangled up with his and hands touching the bare skin of his back where his shirt has ridden up.

It takes him a minute to realize what’s happening and to have a very fast, very tiny existential crisis right then and there. Sokka has them down to a science by now and he works his way through it quickly, starting with _oh my god_ and ending up at _whatever_.

He’d figured that at some point either he or Zuko would extract themselves from the position they’d ended up in and sleep like normal people but when morning comes, Sokka finds that the only real difference is that Zuko is now facing him, nose buried in his shoulder, and that Sokka’s hands have gotten very casual about where they’ve decided to sit on Zuko’s lower back.

He wants to panic but he’s so _tired_ and so comfy, and resigns himself to staying here for the rest of his life.

The rest of his life apparently only lasts until Zuko starts to wake up because suddenly there’s a gym leader groaning into his shoulder like he’s dying.

“Oh god,” are the first words to come out of Zuko’s mouth, “ _Son of a bitch._ ”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Just leave me here to die.”

“Of embarrassment or the sweet hangover you’ve gotta be rocking?”

“... _Both,_ ” Zuko grits out through his teeth.

It’s not that Sokka enjoys this level of horror being on somebody else’s head for once, but it’s a nice, reassuring change from tears and depression.

“You need to puke?”

Zuko shakes his head, pained, into Sokka’s shoulder. 

“Don’t think so. Just a really nasty headache. Ugh.”

“Well, I never did get you to drink that water,” Sokka says consideringly, and doesn’t notice that his hands keep running lines up and down the other boy’s back. “You’re probably dehydrated. Also you’re still buying me breakfast.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want as long as you let me die.”

“Nah, I work too hard to keep you around. Some salt and grease should fix you right up. Always worked for my dad, anyway.”

“Noooooo.”

Any time now, and Zuko’s going to realize what he’s doing, and then never do it again. Any time, now.

Any time.

Sokka’s stomach growls and that’s what breaks the spell, in the end. Wryly, he pats Zuko on his grumbling, dark head.

“Go shower, man. We need breakfast.”

* * *

Zuko emerges from the bathroom still damp and cranky but looking way more coherent and wearing his own clothes.

“You alive, sunshine?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad, because the plan guy has figured out where we’re eating.”

The sun’s come out but everything’s still wet and dewy, making the world a bright, shiny place. Zuko squints the whole way to the diner. They hadn’t slept in as much as Sokka had thought and they get seated quickly.

The waitress is a cheerful, chipper contrast to Zuko’s grouchy thundercloud of a self, and all Sokka wants to do is tease him about it. He settles for seconding Zuko’s request for orange juice and asking for a carafe of water as well.

“For the dehydrated one,” he says.

“God. I wish I was still drunk,” Zuko mumbles into the table. Sokka pokes him with his foot.

“No, you don’t.”

Zuko looks up, eyes Sokka’s appropriately serious face, and sighs.

“No,” he admits, “I don’t.”

“Damn right.”

The waitress comes back with the drinks and Zuko eyeballs his orange juice like it’s going to try and escape.

“Could I get an order of pancakes, please? With sides of scrambled eggs and some bacon?” Sokka says when she asks for their breakfast order. “And you?”

“...Chocolate chip pancakes,” Zuko mumbles into the menu, “Also with scrambled eggs and bacon. And maybe some hash browns.”

“And have the chef put those chocolate chips into a happy face for my friend here, since he’s having such a happy morning!” Sokka adds, grinning mercilessly. 

If looks could kill, he’d definitely be dead.

“Listen,” Sokka says when it’s clear that Zuko’s not going to say anything, “I know you’ve got a hard time with, like, feelings and shit. But you’re going to suck it up for a minute while I emote at you. Last night wasn’t a super great look.”

Zuko flinches.

“Not like that!” Sokka snaps before he can retreat, “You shouldn’t have had to get to that point in the first place. Real talk, I’m feeling pretty crappy right now about encouraging it. I knew it was a bad plan, but I thought it was fine; so even though that crappy plan was on you, not telling you that it was that crappy and trying harder to stop you is on me. So I’m gonna tell you right now: I’m not going to just forget that it happened. Or sweep it under the rug. You weren’t just being dumb last night, all that shit came from a place of hurt, because you felt like you couldn’t go anywhere with it.”

Zuko won’t look at him, now, and Sokka pokes him persistently with his foot under the table until he does.

“You’re my best friend, and I don’t want you to hurt like that. When you need to talk, you should talk. Whether that’s to the guy you called last night, your uncle, or me. If you feel like you can. So this is me telling you that I’m going to do better with checking in, because last night will not be happening again. Clear?”

“...Clear.”

“I mean,” Sokka says with a shrug, “The good news is that I’m pretty sure that your fun little headache is a nice deterrent for any future alcoholism. Seems like it’s a good one.”

Despite himself, the edges of Zuko’s lips tilt up in a slightly self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, no,” he replies, “We’re good on that front.” He cuts himself off when their food comes, and the chef _definitely_ put the chocolate chips into a smiley face, with whipped cream eyebrows and a maraschino cherry nose.

Zuko glares down at his very happy pancakes, and Sokka snickers into his bacon.

“Are you _enjoying_ this?”

“What I am enjoying,” Sokka gesticulates at him with his fork, “Is having you back to your normal, scowly self, with two hundred percent less depression. You also cried on me, which I’m never going to let go.”

“Oh my god.”

“You said,” he barrels on, and sees Zuko swallow hard in trepidation, “Last night, that you didn’t think you’d ever been enough for anybody. And that’s bullshit. That’s the dumb bullshit your brain starts saying when you don’t talk to people. So this is me, telling you, _my best friend_ , that you’re enough for me. Okay? You don’t ever have to be anything more than what you are.”

Zuko stares at him, wide-eyed, from across the table. He’s looking at Sokka like he’s never seen him before. Stunned surprise isn’t a bad look on him at all.

Sokka gives his leg another firm poke under the table.

“Now eat your damn pancakes.”

Zuko eats his damn pancakes.

* * *

Zuko’s standing outside his own home, staring hard at the doorway. He’s nervous to go in, and fights hard against his urge to just…not.

But he’d texted Uncle after breakfast, saying that he was coming home, and he knows that he’s expected. He knows that Uncle’s been worried about him, and that what he did was not okay.

To: Sokka

_Tell me it’s going to be okay._

Zuko doesn’t give any context, but he’s pretty sure that Sokka’s going to know what he’s talking about. Asking for encouragement feels like the kind of weakness on par with just giving up, but he needs it, right now. He needs it very badly.

From: Sokka

_it’s gonna be fine. u might get grounded or something but itll be fine!!!!_

Zuko lets the words, written and abbreviated and above all else sincere, sink into him. He tries, as hard as he can, to believe them.

He wants very badly to believe them.

To: Sokka

_Thank you._

He slides open the doors to Vulca’s gym and goes inside, only to be immediately yanked into a tight hug as soon as he’s in reach.

“Oh, nephew, I was so worried about you.”

Zuko lets himself enjoy being held and lets himself relax in Uncle’s grip, lets himself hold him back.

“I know,” he says, “I’m sorry.” He pulls his face out of Uncle’s shoulder. “I should have answered when you called.”

“You should have,” Uncle Iroh tells him, firm but kind, “I’m just happy to see that you’re alright.”

Zuko chews on his lower lip, suddenly more anxious than he was before.

“Do you have some time?” He asks. “I...can I—can I talk to you about some things?”

Uncle goes still, carefully eyes the look on Zuko’s face, and then leans in for another hug, squeezes him with just enough pressure to keep Zuko inside his own skin.

“You can talk to me about anything,” he says, so gently that it almost hurts. “Come sit, we’ll brew a good pot of jasmine tea and we’ll talk about it.”

* * *


End file.
